over to himself. He had then done his exercises. At
the usual time for tea he had sat down, and, with his cup and brown
bread-and-butter alternately at his lips, had looked long and fixedly at
the place where the girl was wont to sit. Having finished, he left the
room and went about the house. He found no one but Miranda, who, seated
in the passage leading to the studio, was trying to keep one eye on the
absence of her master and the other on the absence of her mistress. She
joined Mr. Stone, maintaining a respect-compelling interval behind him
when he went before, and before him when he went behind. When they had
finished hunting, Mr. Stone went down to the garden gate. Here Bianca
found him presently motionless, without a hat, in the full sun, craning
his white head in the direction from which he knew the little model
habitually came. The mistress of the house was herself returning from her
annual visit to the Royal Academy, where she still went, as dogs, from
some perverted sense, will go and sniff round other dogs to whom they
have long taken a dislike. A loose-hanging veil depended from her
mushroom-shaped and coloured hat. Her eyes were brightened by her visit.
Mr. Stone soon seemed to take in who she was, and stood regarding her a
minute without speaking. His attitude towards his daughters was rather
like that of an old drake towards two swans whom he has inadvertently
begotten--there was inquiry in it, disapproval, admiration, and faint
surprise.

"Why has she not come?" he said.

Bianca winced behind her veil. "Have you asked Hilary?"

"I cannot find him," answered Mr. Stone. Something about his patient
stooping figure and white head, on which the sunlight was falling, made
Bianca slip her hand through his arm.

"Come in, Dad. I'll do your copying."

Mr. Stone looked at her intently, and shook his head.

"It would be against my principles; I cannot take an unpaid service. But
if you would come, my dear, I should like to read to you. It is
stimulating."

At that request Bianca's eyes grew dim. Pressing Mr. Stone's shaggy arm
against her breast, she moved with him towards the house.

"I think I may have written something that will interest you," Mr. Stone
said, as they went along.

"I am sure you have," Bianca murmured.

"It is universal," said Mr. Stone; "it concerns birth. Sit at the table.
I will begin, as usual, where I left off yesterday."

Bianca took the little model's seat, re